


Sweater Weather

by plasticdaisy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M, Romance, Sharing Clothes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticdaisy/pseuds/plasticdaisy
Summary: Karkat comes home to find Dave wearing one of his sweaters, and obligatory heart-melting romantic antics occur.For my boyfriend.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 96





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“Is that mine?”

I look up from my laptop to see Karkat standing in the kitchen doorway. He’s holding his messenger bag awkwardly in one hand, probably having pulled it from his shoulder before he noticed me sitting at the table.

I close my laptop.

“Is what yours?” I reply. I push my shades up a bit to accommodate my fingers, rubbing at my eyes as they adjust from being fixed on a screen for several hours. It feels like I only got back from work a few minutes ago, though Karkat’s arrival tells me that over two hours has passed.

He makes his way over to the table, dropping his bag in front of my laptop.

“The sweater you’re wearing, dipshit,” he retorts, pulling the beanie off of his head and dropping it on top of his bag. He circles the table, and one of his hands finds its way into my hair as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. I can feel his eyes flick between it and me, though I close my eyes as I lean into his hand.

“Oh,” I murmur, opening my eyes and glancing down at myself, “yeah, sorry.”

The sweater is cable knit and somewhere between heather-grey and black, one of those where there are specks of other colors in the dark frizz of the yarn. It’s itchy, and I think Karkat typically wears it with a button up underneath it. I’m wearing a rough, white undershirt, something I had found at the bottom of my closet. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it feels better than the sweater against my bare skin. You can see the white fabric by my wrists, where Karkat’s sleeves are just a little too short for me and the sweater rides up over the shirt.

Karkat pulls his hand away, and I look up at him, taking a deep breath. He disappears behind me for a moment, re-emerging a second later with a glass of water. My lungs feel like their full of cinnamon and what it looks like clouds are made of – when I breathe out, the cotton-candy tangled around my heart tickles my throat and makes my mouth buzz.

“I don’t mind, it’s just not usually the … _look_ you go for,” he slides around the table again, taking the seat across from me. He drags a coaster around his bag, setting down his drink and reaching across the table to hold my hand. I intertwine his fingers with mine.

We’re very touchy, sometimes unintentionally. Our bodies have a way of gravitating together mindlessly, whether it’s his hand finding mine or our legs crossing over each other while he reads in bed and I play a game on my phone beside him. It’s something I appreciate whenever I get the moment to think of it – it’s a way we remind each other just how in love we are.

He drums his fingers across my knuckles as I shrug, feeling my face flush a little.

“What, a guy can’t indulge in a comfy sweater every once in a while? Drop the t-shirts and hoodies for some grade-A itch in his boyfriends’ finest wool? Pair some sick shades with that sweet, sweet sheep –”

“Oh, god, shut up,” he playfully hits my hand, furrowing his brow in exasperation, only betrayed by the smile that finds its way across his face. It tries to hide behind his cheeks.

I love his smile – all of them. His smirks, his grins, when his lips purse together as he tries to hold back a laugh. They’re all the magic of the sunrise and all the beauty of the sunset, it’s a shooting star I never miss behind the trees. They’re the pleasant silence beside a warm fireplace, the note in your favorite song that makes your stomach drop to your knees.

“Are you going to tell me why you _actually_ wore it?” he prods, and I think he already knows the answer, because his voice turns a little soft when he asks.

I pull a hand away, my eyes falling to the side as I rub the back of my neck. I can feel the heat in my face as I think about my answer, and my heart pounds in my cheeks. He’s totally going to point out how red I am, and it’s only going to make the flustered flush worse.

“You’re blushing,” he says, right on cue, and his smile widens. I roll my eyes behind my shades, and I can tell that he saw it, because he lets out a little laugh that says, ‘you’re cute’.

“… I had a meeting this morning that I wasn’t looking forward to,” I begin, and Karkat nods.

“Yeah, the one at work.”

“I knew nothing bad was going to happen, but I was nervous as fuck, and I saw you had hung this up on the closet door to, like, air it out from being in the attic for summer or whatever. But it smells more like you than it smells like the attic, so I just … I thought if I wore it, I’d be less freaked over the whole thing, I guess.”

Karkat’s eyes have that tender glass over them when I look back over at him – the kind of look that makes my heart feel like it swells so big with love it’ll float away. There’s something about the way he looks and speaks to me that feels different than how I’ve ever heard him speak to anyone else.

_It’s love_ , he told me once when I said I didn’t know what was different about when his eyes fell to me, and I hear the words in my head whenever he glances over at me, the sun and stars in his gaze.

“That’s really cute,” he finally says in return, his voice a little muffled by a laugh.

“It’s noooot,” I reply, pulling my other hand from his to push my shades onto my forehead and cover my flushed face, which feels tight with the heat of my reddened cheeks.

“It _is_. No arguments, I win.” Karkat brings a fist down onto the table as if to mock a gavel. Even though I’m not looking at him, I recognize the noise. Living with someone will do that to you.

I pull my hands away from my face and adjust my shades, smiling back at him.

“It’s comforting,” I say quietly, reaching back over to him. He intertwines our fingers and nods.

“I feel the same way,” he confesses, his grin growing bashful, “about your clothes, I mean. I have one of your hoodies on my chair at work. Even if I’m not wearing it, just seeing it there makes me feel … I don’t know. Good.”

I shake my head, unaware but simultaneously too aware that the love flooding my chest could continue to grow so much while we spoke, even when it feels like I’m overflowing with the warmth and light Karkat puts inside me.

“I love you,” I say, lifting one of his hands to my lips to press a kiss to it. He mimics the motion, smiling against my hand.

“I love you too.”

A couple moments of pleasant quiet pass between us – I usually hate silence, but there’s something about being with Karkat makes it comfortable and safe. He makes everything feel that way, no matter where we are.

“Oh, shit, your dinner,” I stand up, and Karkat perks up a little, his eyes following me as I walk over to the fridge.

“You didn’t have to do that, I told you if you were too tired, I’d just make pasta.”

“But I wasn’t too tired,” I reply, opening the fridge and leaning over to find the Tupperware container with Karkat’s dinner in it. He stands and walks over to me as I transfer it to a plate, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face into my back.

“What is it?” he asks into the sweater, muffled by the wool.

“Chicken,” I reply, “I had it with peppers –”

“Ew.”

“But yours didn’t touch it,” he briefly interrupts me with a ‘thank god’, and I shake my head and smile, continuing, “I cooked some of those green beans you bought yesterday to go with yours.”

“Thanks, babe,” he says, kissing me on the cheek before he moves to lean on the counter while I stick his dinner in the microwave.

“Of course.”

“And, y’know what?”

“Hm?” I turn to him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You don’t look half bad in the sweater. You should wear it more often.”

I smile, opening my arms to offer an embrace, which he gladly accepts, nuzzling into my chest.

“Does that mean I can wear it again?” I ask him, and he pulls away slightly, resting his chin on the sweater to look up at me.

He grins – sunsets, warm fires, and the stars above the trees.

“I think I’d like if you did.”


End file.
